


There's Nothing in Life But You

by oswhine



Category: Agent Carter (TV), The Price of Salt - Patricia Highsmith
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-08 04:10:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5482796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oswhine/pseuds/oswhine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Cartinelli Carol AU because I needed it. (Angie is the Therese character, Peggy is Carol, but their personalities are their own.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The first lines as well as a lot of the dialogue comes straight from the book. Credits to Patricia Highsmith. 
> 
> COD delivery, as mentioned, is an acronym for cash on delivery. Wikipedia can put it better than me: "the sale of goods by mail order where payment is made on delivery rather than in advance. If the goods are not paid for, they are returned to the retailer." 
> 
> The title is a lyric from Billie Holiday's song 'Easy Living,' which Therese and Carol listen to a lot in the book. 
> 
> *I haven't seen the movie yet. I've only read the book.

“The lunch hour in the coworkers’ cafeteria at Frankenberg’s had reached its peak.” 

Angie hated her job already. She hated the people around her, hurrying every action just so their lunch hours would last that much longer, every single one of them wearing their weariness and despise of the job on their faces. They were people who had settled into their lives but still wanted to escape them. 

But, she reminded herself, she wasn’t stuck there like some of the other women who worked for fifteen years just to get that three week vacation. She was temporary, untethered, and soon, soon, she would be away from the claustrophobic atmosphere of the department store and standing on the openness of a stage. If she could get a job. 

Sighing, she stood up, feeling the pull of the minutes, knowing her lunch break was almost over. There were so many small endings in one’s everyday life that caused people small heartbreaks; the loss of free time was only one of them. 

Angie worked in the doll department. She didn’t enjoy it, found it creepy, all those little, perfect faces staring upon her as if asking her something. But she never knew the question. 

It was almost Christmas, and all of them rushed about like they were dolls themselves, wound up and, throughout the day, running out, wound up again by lunch and a night of sleep before being wound again. In the theatre, she could be an individual. She could feel sparks of life inside her. It felt to her like she was saying the same things to each customer, over and over again, as if she were memorizing lines. 

And then. 

She had looked up, her best friendly-as-a-fucking-fairy smile on her face, but instead of catching the eye of the man standing in front of her, her attention was drawn to a woman standing behind him. She was staring at Angie was intense molasses-coloured eyes, her shapely figure hugged by a plaid coat. She didn’t look away. 

“Miss?” 

Reluctantly, she turned to the man. But she felt strange, dizzy, preoccupied by the woman in the plaid coat’s face despite how hard she tried to snap herself out of it. 

Suddenly the woman was standing before her, her stare even more direct up close. “May I see one of those valises?” She asked. 

“Sure,” Angie said, and her smile for this woman, this woman out of nowhere, surprised herself in being genuine. 

“That’s the one I like, but I don’t suppose I can have it, can I?” She said, nodding at the one in the display window behind Angie. 

Angie would have given her anything, in that moment. And she couldn’t have told anyone why, not even herself. 

“Of course you can,” she said. 

She had to go back to the stockroom and get the key that only her supervisor was only allowed to touch. It didn’t even feel daring as she took it from its hook. 

When Angie presented the valise from the window to the woman in the plaid coat, she raised an eyebrow. 

“You’re giving me the one on display?” Her lips curved upwards slightly, but not mockingly. Angie could tell this woman would never mock someone unless they meant the world to her. “They’ll have a fit, won’t they?” 

“I don’t care,” Angie said, wanting the woman to know her, and not just the doll who stood at the counter, smiling placidly. 

“All right. I’d like this. That’s COD. Will this get to New Jersey before Christmas?” 

“Yes, it’ll arrive Monday.” _Even if I have to take it there myself._ “English, huh?” Angie asked as the woman filled out the COD slip. Her handwriting was thin and looping. Angie had heard that one could learn about a person’s personality just from how they wrote. She wished she had learned more about it, just so she could find out more about this woman. She wanted to know everything about her; every secret hidden behind those eyes. 

“Yes,” the woman said, more as if she were agreeing with Angie than answering the question. Angie liked that. 

And then, all too soon, the woman had filled out the slip, given one glance of a smile at Angie, and was walking away. Angie could only helplessly watch her leave, her whole body straight, not slouched as Angie’s mother had always told her she was. Angie remembered she used to go around pretending she was a hunchback, just to annoy her. The lines on the back of the woman’s nylons were as straight as her posture. Angie wanted to remember them forever, wanted to tell everyone about them: “Today I saw a woman, and the lines on her stockings were the straightest I’ve ever seen!” 

She was pulled out of her thoughts by the voice of her supervisor: “Don’t you know you’re supposed to give the customer the strip at the top of the COD order? How do you expect them to claim the purchase when it comes? Where’s the customer? Can you catch them?” 

“Yes.” Without a thought, Angie had clutched the slip in her hand, and was walking towards the woman, closing the distance between them, her heart pounding. She could only think it was because of how embarrassed she was at her own foolishness and how obvious it would be to the woman that she was new. 

She tapped the woman on the shoulder, and as she turned around, she caught the smell of her perfume, and it reminded her of strong flowers which blossomed with thick petals despite the harshest winds. Or maybe that was just the woman and her petal-red lips, now parted ever so slightly, questioningly. 

“Excuse me, you forgot this,” Angie said, thrusting the slip at her. She let the woman take it, but did not let their fingers brush, and went back to her position at the counter, afraid that everything about the woman would overpower her so much that she would no longer be able to breathe. She still couldn’t place what it was about the woman that made her feel so turned inside out. It could have been her intense eyes, or the calmness that wafted about her with her perfume, or the order that she signified in the chaos of everything else around Angie. 

More customers came and went as she tried to steady her heartbeat, and then she was staring into the woman’s deep eyes again. She must have rejoined the queue. 

“I’d like to get this too,” she said in that smooth English accent, laying a doll on the counter. “It really will arrive before Christmas?” 

“Don’t worry, English, it’ll come Monday at the latest. That’s two days before Christmas.” Angie was being bold, maybe too bold, but she wanted to make as much of an impression on the woman as she had on her. 

The woman smiled at the nickname. “It’s a rotten job, isn’t it?” 

“Absolutely hell,” Angie agreed, “But I get to wear this _darling_ little uniform,” she pretended to be a posh model, placing a hand on her shoulder and thrusting her chest out, displaying the dress, the colour palette of which wouldn’t have looked out of place in a dentist’s office. 

The woman chuckled softly. It reminded Angie of a fireplace crackling, a sound that comes with a feeling of warmth. 

And she turned away, again, and walked away, again. Angie watched her all the way until she stepped into the elevator. 

She remembered one of the things her mother always used to say: “Out of sight, out of mind.” But that wasn’t true. Angie’s mind buzzed with thoughts of the woman in the plaid coat - English, as she now called her - all through the rest of her shift, and by the end of it, she had an idea, or the idea had her and it wouldn’t let go. Before she left the department store, she bought a Christmas card with a plaid pattern on it just like the woman’s coat, and scribbled a short, impersonal message - _Special Salutations from Frankenberg’s_ \- that was not at all what she wanted to say. She left her details and mailed the card before she could over think it. 

Walking home that night she imagined the woman picking it out from the mail, opening it, reading the message, wondering who it was from with a raised eyebrow like when she had given her the valise from the display. She would probably think it was from a man. She would be disappointed when it was only the awkward, twiggy girl from the doll department. Angie told herself she wouldn’t care. But this was the one thing she did care about.


	2. Chapter 2

The next day at work her supervisor told her she had a phone call. 

Angie knew it would be her. She was a little surprised the woman was phoning her at all. She would have seen her name, known that she wasn’t a male admirer who’d helped her in another section of the store. 

She held her breath when she picked up the phone and waited for the woman to speak first. 

“Is this Angela Martinelli?” 

Her name in those soft British tones sounded so different. It sounded right. 

“Yes,” Angie breathed. 

“Well - I wanted to thank you for the Christmas card.” 

She was just being polite. That was all. Angie felt her heart sink and twisted her finger around the telephone cord. “It was no problem, really.” 

The woman laughed, that same warm chuckle, as if Angie’s words were funny to her. “Still, it was very nice.” 

_Nice_. “Well, it was nice waiting on you, English,” Angie replied, hoping the woman couldn’t hear the slight bite of bitterness in her tone. 

What she said next surprised Angie even more than the phone call. “Would you like to meet for a cup of coffee?” She asked it like she was still considering it herself. “I’d like to thank you in person.” 

“Sure,” said Angie, still too shocked to say anything more. They agreed that the woman would meet Angie at the main doors of Frankenberg’s after she was done work for the day. 

After she’d hung up, Angie had to pinch herself. It felt like a dream. This woman, who she thought would be just one irregular splotch in her memories, who she thought she would never see again, this magical woman, had invited her out for coffee. 

She was standing in front of a streetlamp, not leaning, poker-straight, when Angie emerged from the building. The warm glow made her seem like an angel, a vision from heaven, come to tell her something important, something miraculous. She was wearing her plaid coat again, but with a darker lipstick. She smiled when she saw Angie. 

“Hello.” 

“Hello.” 

They smiled at each other awkwardly for a moment. 

“Do you have any preference as to restaurants?” The woman asked, and they began to walk down the slick pavement. Angie realised she still didn’t know her name. She almost didn’t want to know it. A name made her ordinary. It pinned her down. Without it, she was like a woman in a pulp fiction novel, sliding in and out of shadows and allegiances. Without a name, she was something more than a woman. She _could_ have been an angel. 

“There’s a good place a few blocks away where I sometimes go. But we don’t have to go there now, if you don’t want to.” 

The woman glanced at her, hands in her coat pockets. “No, let’s go there.” 

It was strange to see the woman in the L&L Automat, she so unfamiliar to Angie and the restaurant so familiar, the mint green booths, the swirled pattern on the floor. 

They settled in the booth farthest from the door and ordered coffees. 

“What makes this place so special?” The woman asked. 

“I used to work here. I was fired, because the customers are typically pigs in suits and I have self respect, but I still have a fondness for it. Plus, the coffee’s heavenly.” She was babbling a little, as she was prone to do, but she could tell the woman was listening, watching her without blinking, nodding slightly. 

“So you worked here before Frankenberg’s?” 

Angie nodded. “Not that that’s a whole lot better.” 

“You haven’t been working there very long, have you?”

“No. Only about two weeks. I was hired for the holiday rush. Thank God I won’t be there much longer. I don’t think I could stand to be a long term Frankenberg slave.” 

“And do you often get inspired to send cards to people?” 

“No. Only you.” 

The woman looked away for the first time, casting her eyes down. Her eyelashes were dark, and lay against her skin like delicate lines in a spider’s web. 

Their coffees arrived, and the woman’s lipstick left a dark crescent against the rim of her mug. Angie wished she could take the mug and drink from the exact same spot, feeling the echo of the woman’s kiss against her lips. 

“Hey, English, I still don’t know your real name.” 

“My name? Peggy. Please don’t ever call me Margaret.” 

“So long as you don’t ever call me Angela.” 

“Deal,” said the woman. _Peggy_. Angie couldn’t decide whether it suited her or not. But then again, no name would ever be good enough for her. “What do you do on Sundays?” Peggy asked. 

“I don’t always know. Sometimes I go to auditions. What do you do?” 

She sighed. “Nothing - lately. If you’d like to visit me sometime, you’re welcome to. At least there’s some country around where I live. Would you like to come out this Sunday?” 

Angie looked into those unreadable molasses eyes. “Yes.”


	3. Chapter 3

Peggy picked her up that Sunday morning in a forest green car. 

“Shall we go out to the house? Where would you like to go?” She asked after Angie had slid onto the seat next to her.

“Let’s go on an adventure,” Angie said, although it already felt like one, just sitting beside her, all the possibilities of the open road before them. She felt that anything would have been an adventure with Peggy. 

“I’ll try my best,” Peggy said, and started the engine. 

They drove out to her house, and Angie felt herself telling Peggy everything, her life story in pieces: her overbearing mother, her dream of acting and all the hopeless auditions, working jobs she hated and then going home and dancing to records to relieve the tension of the day. And Peggy listened through it all, making intelligent comments and tapping her fingers against the wheel when she agreed with something Angie was saying. 

“What about you, English?” Angie had asked at one point. “What are you doing so far from home?” 

“It’s a long story,” Peggy had said distantly, and that made Angie just want to know it more. She wanted to be close enough to Peggy that she would confide in her. She wanted to be one of the people Peggy didn’t keep so far away. 

Peggy’s house was large, and it looked just as distant as Peggy herself. 

“There’s no one here but the maid. And she’s far away,” said Peggy, pulling her coat closer around her as they walked up the driveway. 

Inside, she took Angie’s coat without the other girl having to ask, peeling it from her shoulders in such a natural way, as if Angie had visited many times before and it was a habit. 

“What would you like to do?” She asked. She seemed suddenly small in the large house. “Take a walk? Play some records? You could dance,” she said, smiling, and it struck Angie that Peggy was one of the rare type of people who actually listened to what you said, and actually cared. 

“I want to know about you,” she said. “You know all about me now, it’s only fair.” 

Peggy shrugged dismissively. “There’s not much to know.” 

“Are you married?” Angie’s mouth felt dry as she asked the question. 

“Yes.” 

“Do you have any children?” 

“Yes. A daughter.” 

“Are you happy?” 

“Happiness is relative,” Peggy said impatiently. “Are you done interrogating me?” 

“Gee, sorry, English,” Angie held up her hands, “I just want to get to know you. There’s no need to be so defensive.” 

Peggy didn’t say anything, and Angie wished she hadn’t either. A man she’d dated once, when breaking up with her, had told her that she was _reactionary_. She’d told him to stop being so goddamn pretentious and hit him with her purse, but maybe there’d been some truth in it. She took a step towards Peggy. 

“I am sorry, English. I didn’t mean to offend you.” 

“It’s alright, Angie,” Peggy said, sighing. “Would you like a Coke?” 

“Sure.” 

As they went into the kitchen, Peggy asked her over her shoulder; “Do you meet a lot of people over the counter this way?” 

“No.” 

“Not many? Just three or four?” 

“Like you?” 

Peggy glanced back at her, her expression unreadable. She didn’t say anything more until she handed Angie her bottle of Coke. “What about friends? Do you have a lot of those?” 

“Not really,” Angie said, sitting down at the kitchen table. “After I was fired from the L&L, I kind of just disappeared. I moved and didn’t tell anyone where. I wanted a fresh start, y’know? I was tired of the same old people repeating the same old stories.” 

Peggy smiled.“Disappeared! I like that. And how lucky you are to be able to do it. You’re free. Do you realise that?” 

Angie said nothing. 

“No.” Peggy answered herself. “And what about me? If we continue to see each other will I one day find you’ve just vanished out of thin air? Sick of me?” 

“No,” said Angie, meaning it more than she’d ever meant anything before. 

Peggy stood behind her and put her hands on her shoulders. Her touch was gentle. Angie felt as if she were made of china, the cool and delicate touch of a china statuette. But at the same time she knew she wasn’t; Peggy had a quiet strength about her that maybe some people couldn’t see, but Angie could. That was partly why she liked her so much. Peggy wasn’t afraid. And neither was she. Most girls were, and it was their fear of tiny, irrational things that made Angie loathe them so much. 

“I better take you home,” Peggy said suddenly, and her hands dropped from Angie’s shoulders. 

“Why? I don’t want to leave yet,” said Angie stubbornly. 

“It’s getting late,” was all Peggy said, but from the way she was playing agitatedly with her keys, Angie felt like she was expecting something. Something she didn’t want Angie to see. 

“Fine,” Angie said tightly, even though she knew it was unfair. She barely knew Peggy and she expected too much from her. But how could she help wanting to know everything about Peggy, wanting to share every one of her secrets? 

On the drive back to the city they barely spoke to one another. 

As she got out of the car in front of her building, Angie said; “I had a great time, English. Sorry I can be such a crabapple sometimes.” 

“It’s ok, Angie. I had a good time too.” She smiled but she seemed tired. 

“See ya,” said Angie, slamming the door and feeling slightly better as she watched Peggy drive off. She wondered what she was going back to. 

Later that night, brushing her teeth, she thought about what Peggy had said: _Happiness is relative_. Maybe she was right. Angie had never felt as happy as she did with Peggy. Maybe she was her dependent factor. She went to sleep wondering how soon she could see Peggy again.


	4. Chapter 4

Angie had never in her life felt the need to please someone before. And maybe this wasn’t even that; it was more like the need for Peggy to like her, to think she was worthwhile. She’d never really cared what people thought about her before either. 

On her way home from work she saw a stationary set in a shop window. It contained a marble covered notebook and a variety of fountain pens, one for each colour of the rainbow. It was both sensible and beautiful, just like Peggy. She went in and bought it straight away. She would give it to Peggy for Christmas. 

By Christmas Eve, her last day working at Frankenberg’s, she still hadn’t seen Peggy, although she looked for her in every customer. No one could match up to her. Halfway through the day, a telegram was delivered to her. It was from Peggy: _Meet you downstairs at 5pm. Peggy._

For the rest of the day Angie smiled more at the customers doing their last minute shopping, partly out of relief at her coming escape, but mostly because Peggy had asked her out again, and when she clocked out for the last time, she would be waiting, soft curls and red lipstick and plaid coat, for her. 

She was standing under the same streetlamp, but now she was more than an angel. There were so many of them in the heavens, singing their sad songs, but there was only one Peggy. Angie grinned when she saw her and Peggy smiled back. Just that exchange made her happier than anyone else ever had. 

“Thank God, I’m finally through!” She said, walking up to Peggy. 

“Through what?” Peggy asked, tilting her head. 

“Working here!” Angie cried, stretching her arms out. But something was off about Peggy, a sadness that pulled at the corners of her eyes. Maybe it had always been there and she’d just never noticed it before. She wanted to wipe away that sadness. She wanted to see Peggy’s biggest, brightest smile, just for her. “I was awfully happy to get your telegram.” 

“I didn’t know if you’d be free. Are you free tonight?” 

“Of course.” 

“Do you want to go back to the L&L? You’re right, their coffee is amazing.” 

“Sure.” 

They took the same back booth in the automat. 

“Is something wrong, English?” Angie asked. “Crappy day?” 

Peggy smiled tiredly. “Crappy month.” 

“Do you want to tell me about it?” 

But Peggy just shook her head, looking into her cup of coffee, her fingers curled around it. 

“Well, I’m sorry you had a crappy month, English. Boy, do I know how you feel. Well, maybe not exactly, but last week this woman came in looking for a doll that looked _exactly_ like her daughter…” and there she was, rambling, telling a story that wasn’t even interesting, but, even though she was preoccupied, Peggy was listening. Angie felt a rush of love for her. 

After they’d finished their coffees Peggy wanted to go for a drive. 

New York at night, at Christmastime, with a person you loved, was the most beautiful place in the world, Angie thought. Screw Paris, Rome, Venice, and all the other European self-centered cities; New York sparkled brighter than all of them. 

“I’m getting divorced,” Peggy said suddenly, staring straight ahead of her. 

“Is that bad or good?” 

“I don’t love my husband.” Peggy’s lips were pressed tightly together. 

“So, that’s good, then?” 

But Peggy didn’t say anything more about it. 

As Angie’d guessed from the start, Peggy was a secretive person, not eager to open up to other people like she was. But this was ok for her. It meant more with every little detail that Peggy revealed to her, if she did so slowly. She wanted to reach out and take Peggy’s hand that gripped the gear shift, but she didn’t know how Peggy would react. She wanted to see her again, and if that meant keeping her feelings hidden like Peggy kept hers, she could live with that. For the moment. 

“You doing anything fun for Christmas?” She asked. 

Peggy sighed. “Not really. What about you? Spending it with a special someone? Your family?” 

“Neither. Most men are rotten and my family’s even worse.” 

“So you’re spending it alone? Oh, Angie.” She glanced over at her, her eyes soft. 

“It’s ok, I’ll turn up the radio real loud and eat donuts all day. It’ll be fun. Maybe drink some schnapps, who knows.” She wished that Peggy would invite her to spend Christmas with her in that big empty house. But she didn’t. 

“I know what,” said Peggy, almost to herself. They were on the highway to her house, and she pulled over to the side of the road and stopped. “Come out with me.” 

They were at a Christmas tree lot, full of fragrant, scraggly trees and drooping white Christmas lights. 

“We don’t have a tree yet, would you like to help me pick one out?” Peggy asked, pulling on her plaid coat. “Not too big, not too small.” 

“That’s specific.” 

There was no one else there except for the old man selling the trees, sitting behind the cash register with a portable radio and listening to some sports broadcast, rubbing his arms to warm up. 

They were alone in the forest of Christmas trees, their sharp, delicious smell enveloping them. Peggy took off her gloves and rubbed some of the needles between her fingers, and Angie couldn’t help noticing how soft her hands looked, how deliberate her movements. 

“Which one do you think looks good?” Peggy asked. 

You, Angie wanted to say, but instead she pointed at a bushy Douglas fir. 

“I was admiring that one too,” said Peggy, and they bought it. 

They brought the tree into the house, Peggy doing most of the lifting. Angie had a sudden, strange urge to see Peggy shirtless, to see her muscles straining, but she shooed it out of her mind, trying not to blush. 

“Let’s decorate it now,” said Peggy. She seemed to be in a better mood, as she switched on the radio to play Christmas carols. There was a box of baubles, dusty from being in the attic for most of the year, a white blanket to wrap around the bottom of the tree to look like snow, and paper to cut out chains of angels. Angie did that, imagining each one as Peggy. 

“You’re very good at that,” said Peggy, hanging ornaments on the tree, and Angie smiled. “It’s a superb tree,” she said, standing back and surveying it. “Everything but the presents.” 

Angie wished she’d thought to bring the stationary set with her. She wanted to see Peggy’s face when she opened it. And most of all she wanted Peggy to hug her and whisper “Thank you,” in her ear. She glanced at the clock on the mantel. It was past one. 

“It’s Christmas,” she said, and Peggy glanced at the clock too, then at Angie. 

“You’d better stay the night.” 

“All right.” 

Peggy led her upstairs and put her in a clean, unused room, laying some pyjamas at the end of the bed and making sure she had anything. The bed looked cold and empty. 

“Are these your pyjamas?” Angie asked.

Peggy paused. “Yes. I’m sorry, I have washed them - “ 

“No, it’s all right,” Angie interrupted, feeling overwhelmed. Soon she would be in Peggy’s pyjamas, sleeping in the next room from Peggy. 

“Good night, then,” said Peggy, smiling, and crossing to the door. “Merry Christmas. What do you want for Christmas?” 

“Nothing,” said Angie, and Peggy closed the door behind her. She already had everything she could ever want. She pulled on Peggy’s pyjamas and felt both so close to her and so far away. She wished she could sleep in the same room as Peggy. She wished they could talk until the sun rose. But at the same time, here she was, feeling the smooth silk against her skin that had brushed against Peggy’s. It felt so delightfully intimate. Angie lay back on the bed and smiled into the darkness. 

She woke early in the morning and padded downstairs to find Peggy in the kitchen, sipping at a mug of coffee. 

“Morning, Sleepyhead,” she said, smiling, but she seemed distant. 

“Merry Christmas.” 

“Do you want any breakfast before I drive you back to the city?” 

Angie smiled tightly at her. “No, I wouldn’t want to waste your time.”

“Angie…”

“No, it’s alright, I know a brush off when I see one. I’ll go get dressed.” 

They drove back in an uncomfortable silence and Angie worried her abrasive personality had ruined it all again. Couldn’t Peggy see that she wanted nothing more than to spend every moment with her and that it hurt that she didn’t want to do the same? But she supposed Peggy probably had plans. It was Christmas Day, after all. 

As Angie ducked out of the car and headed towards her apartment building, Peggy called: “Angie! Wait!” 

She turned back to see Peggy leaning out the open window of the car. When she got close, Peggy pressed a wrapped gift into her hands. “Merry Christmas.” 

“Gee, thanks English! I got you something, just hold up while I go get it - “ 

“It’s alright, just mail it to me,” Peggy said, and with that, she drove off, leaving Angie standing at the curb, present clutched in her hands. 

Inside her apartment, she ripped the paper open. It was a Billie Holiday record, a note from Peggy attached to the top: _Billie Holiday’s free-spiritedness reminds me of you. Merry Christmas. Peggy._

Angie put the record on and listened to it on repeat all day.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Christmas Eve everyone! I hope you're all having happy holidays! <3

It was a few days after Christmas. Peggy was coming over to Angie’s apartment, actually coming inside, for the first time, in ten minutes. Angie had spent the morning debating whether to tidy, make her house look neat and unlived in like Peggy’s, or to leave it is as it was, and let Peggy have no misconceptions about her. She left it. 

And she was glad she had, because when Peggy walked in and took in the mess, her coat slung over the back of the couch, the empty Coke bottle on the end table, the shoes flung haphazardly on the carpet beside the door, she smiled and said; “This place suits you. What do you have to pay for an apartment like this?” 

“Fifty a month.” 

“Doesn’t leave you much out of your salary, does it?” Peggy asked, running a gloved finger down a crack in the wall. 

“No, but I won’t be living here forever.” 

“Of course you won’t. You’ll travel, too, the way you do in imagination. You’ll see a house in Italy you’ll fall in love with. Or maybe you’ll like France. Or California. Or Arizona.” Peggy looked at her steadily, as intently as she had the first day Angie had seen her, and she felt just as under the woman’s spell as she had then. 

“I doubt I’ll ever have enough money to afford a house in France. Actors don’t get paid that much, y’know, unless they’re one of them Hollywood bigshots. Do people always fall in love with things they can’t have?” 

“Always,” said Peggy.

“Do you want anything to drink?” Angie asked. “Water? Or - I got a bottle of Schnapps and half a rhubarb pie, let's see which one makes us sick first.” 

Peggy sat down on the couch slowly, smoothing out her skirt. “Actually, Angie, I wanted to tell you something.” 

“What? Spit it out, English.” 

“I’m going away for a while,” she said, avoiding Angie’s eyes. 

“For how long?” Angie didn’t know how long she could stand not seeing Peggy for. She couldn’t even imagine how she had survived before she’d met Peggy. Now she seemed to be the central point in her life, as essential to her as food and water. If she didn’t see her for a while she began to feel worn out and drained of energy. How had that even happened? They had known each other for such a small amount of time. 

“Just a month or so.” 

_Just_. The word stung. A month was a long time. She tried to keep calm, and be enthusiastic for Peggy. “How soon will you be going?” 

“Right away. I suppose as soon as I can arrange everything. And there isn’t much to arrange.” 

Angie sat down on the couch beside her. There was no possibility that Peggy felt the same way that she did for her. Leaving for a month, giving her barely any notice, surely she didn’t share the same intensity that burned inside Angie. 

She turned to her. “Why don’t we do something tonight? We can spend the evening together.” 

“All right. But I won’t stay. It’s only three. I’ll give you a ring around six.” She stood up, pushing her hair off her face, and as she did so, Angie caught the smell of her thick perfume, and suddenly she squeezed by a strange feeling, almost like homesickness, expect it couldn’t be that, she was sitting in her own living room at that very moment. 

“Bye,” said Peggy, and in the same movement with which she put on her coat, she slid her arm around Angie’s waist. But before she could even realise it was happening, it was over, and Peggy was walking out the door. It felt to Angie that she’d imagined it, that it was hopeful hallucination from her own mind. 

Peggy called at six and they went to the automat again, sitting in their booth, this time buying turkey sandwiches as well as coffee. 

Knowing that Peggy was leaving so soon made Angie impatient. She wouldn’t be able to see Peggy in person, those molasses eyes, that electric smile, those frankly amazing legs that belonged on the highest class of chorus girls. Peggy was the only person Angie had ever been aware of. Everyone else, they were sitting next to her, and that was that. But she could feel Peggy beside her, the warmth radiating from her body, the thick scent of her perfume, the crackling feeling in the air. If she couldn’t have that, for a month, she wanted information. She wanted to _know_ Peggy, and not just in the small mouthfuls she received occasionally up to this point.

“What’s your daughter’s name?” She asked her, once they had settled into the booth. 

“Goodness, you’re direct tonight,” Peggy said, leaning her elbow on the table. “Rindy.” 

“What kind of name is that?” 

“Nerinda. My husband named her. He wanted a son, but I think he’s more pleased with a daughter. I wanted a girl. I wanted two or three children.” 

Angie had never heard Peggy talk about herself so much. She must be feeling the same way she was. “And your husband didn’t?” She asked, leaning forward. 

“I didn’t. I didn’t want any more children, because I was afraid our marriage was going on the rocks anyway, even with Rindy.” She took a sip of her coffee. 

“Why did you leave England?” 

Peggy smiled. “What everyone leaves their home for - love. I worked for the army during the war and my husband was a soldier. At the end of it all, full of the joy just to be alive and to be going home, he asked me to marry him. And I said yes.” 

“Why?” 

“Just because I don’t love him now, doesn’t mean I didn’t love him once.” 

Angie wondered if she would ever fall out of love with Peggy. It seemed like an impossibility; this feeling was too strong to ever die out. 

“Have you ever been in love, Angie?” Peggy asked her now. 

“Before now?” 

Peggy frowned. _She doesn’t feel the same way about me_ , Angie remembered. 

“You can’t know love until you’ve felt it twice,” Peggy said. She leaned back in her seat. “Anyway. What are you doing, now that you’re not working at Frankenberg’s?” 

“Looking for an acting gig,” Angie admitted. She had been to two auditions so far, neither one fruitful. 

“I’m sure you’re a wonderful actor,” Peggy said, “You’re dramatic enough.” Angie wasn’t sure whether that was a jab at her or not. 

“Thanks, English.” 

Peggy seemed to sense her feelings. “I mean it, Angie. I’d love to see you in something someday.” She reached her hand across the table and her cool fingers lightly touched the back of Angie’s hand. It felt like from her touch electric currents were sent through the whole of Angie’s body, frazzling her nerves and warming her blood. She tried not to show how much of an effect it had on her. 

“Yeah, you and me both.” She swallowed, her other hand playing with her fork. 

When Peggy drew her hand back to take a sip of coffee, it was almost a relief. But that night, she felt herself aching for it again, just a simple, light touch, her own fingers brushing the back of her hand, trying to recreate the feeling.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas to all those who celebrate it! Did everyone hear the good Cartinelli news for season 2? I'm so excited! If not, check out this link: http://www.ew.com/article/2015/12/24/agent-carter-lyndsy-fonseca-dancing-with-stars-crossover-dwts

On Sunday Angie went over to Peggy’s house and they sat on the porch swing on the screened patio, talking about her upcoming trip. 

“Have you decided how soon you’re going away?” Angie asked, sitting as close to Peggy as she dared. 

“Maybe in about a week. Why?” 

“Just that I’ll miss you. Of course.” 

Peggy was picking at the peeling paint on the arm of the swing. “I was thinking, in fact, you might like to go with me. What do you think, for three weeks or so?” 

Angie hesitated. Her first feeling was of a pure, consuming joy, of the fact that Peggy wanted her with her, that they might spend three weeks together, doing whatever they wanted, finally having that adventure. But her second feeling was doubt. What if Peggy began to regret asking her to come along? What if she got sick of her babbling? What if she got a call-back while she was away and missed the opportunity to become a big star, like she’d always wanted? Running away with Peggy in a delirium wouldn’t help anything. She took a breath. “Thanks - I don’t think I can afford it just now.” It was a simple, believable excuse, easier than the other constellation of reasons.

“You wouldn’t need much money. We’d go in the car.” 

“You know I’d go anywhere with you, English, but - “ 

Peggy put her hand on her Angie’s knee and looked her straight in the eye, her gaze deep and magnetic. “Angie, you could burn down a city. But you’re even afraid to take a little trip with me.”

“I’m not afraid!” Angie said angrily, twisting her mouth. “I’ll go!” 

“Are you going because you want to go or because you want to prove something?” 

“Because I want to go,” Angie said quietly, and she wished she could just lean forward and kiss Peggy, right that moment, with no hesitation, because that was what she felt inside. But she was so uncertain of where she stood with Peggy. One moment the woman didn’t seem to care about her, the next she was asking her to drive across the country with her. 

“Brilliant!” Peggy grinned. “Let’s play some music and celebrate. I don’t have any Schnapps, but I do have some red wine.”

“I’d love that,” Angie said as Peggy stood, the swing rocking in her wake. 

“Why don’t you get ready for bed first? It’s late, do you know that?” 

“It always gets late with you.” 

“Is that a compliment?” Peggy asked, laughing lightly. “You get ready, I’ll get the wine and put on a record.” 

By the time she had dressed in Peggy’s borrowed pyjamas, the other woman was back with a bottle of red wine and two glasses. She’d put Billie Holiday on the record player. They lay on Angie’s bed, the bottle between them, and Peggy poured it out, passing one glass to Angie. 

“There you go, Miss Martinelli,” she said, making Angie giggle, something she rarely did. “Have you ever been to Wyoming?” 

“No.” 

“It’s time you saw America.” She lay back on the bed with a little sigh, looking up at the ceiling. “I’d like to show you the world, Angie Martinelli.” 

Angie’s heart beat fast. She wiggled closer to Peggy, making sure not to spill her wine. Now their hips were touching. “There’s no one I’d rather see it with, English.”

“Angie, have you forgotten my name?” Asked Peggy, smirking. 

“Of course not, Peggy,” Angie said haughtily, but stumbling a bit over the other woman’s name, and Peggy leaned back, closing her eyes and letting out a loud, rich laugh. “What’s so funny?” She asked, hitting her thigh. And then her hand somehow came to rest there, feeling the muscles under Peggy’s stockings. And Peggy didn’t frown or move her hand away. She just said: 

“You.”

“I can’t believe you’re this tipsy from one glass of wine! Thank God we didn’t drink that Schnapps,” Angie grinned. She loved this. She loved Peggy’s laugh, Peggy letting go. She loved being the person who made Peggy laugh and who made her so happy. She loved Peggy. 

“I’m not tipsy!” Said Peggy obstinately, laughter in her voice. She inclined her head so that it was beside Angie’s ear and whispered: “I’m incredibly serious.” Angie could feel her warm breath on her neck and couldn’t help letting out a little sigh. She closed her eyes. She had never felt more peaceful, more content, the person she loved most in the world lying beside her and the wine warming her. 

And then. 

Something soft, brushing against her lips, then resting on them, gently, so gently, like Peggy’s touch, and then, when Angie didn’t react, pressing against them meaningfully, and something wet and quick dampening her lips, just the edges, not quite inside her mouth but almost. She could smell Peggy’s perfume. 

She opened her eyes. 

Peggy’s thick, dark eyelashes were inches away from hers. She could see clumps of mascara caught in them. It was Peggy’s lips against hers, soft and meaningful, and Angie kissed her back, her lips hungry after longing for Peggy’s so intensely. It was just as perfect as she’d imagined it to be. 

Then it was over, and Peggy leaned her forehead against hers. 

“Angie, are you sure - “ she began, her voice quiet, eyes darting over Angie’s face, looking for a sign, but Angie interrupted her: 

“Shut up, English, you talk too much,” and she kissed her again, losing herself deep in the taste of Peggy, sweet and savoury all at once like the wine, concentrating only on this moment because she didn’t want to lose it. She never wanted to doubt that it had happened. 

The definition of _perfect_ was this moment, with the promise of a whole month travelling with the woman she loved, and who loved her back, something she’d only just learned, and the strength and absolute, stunned happiness of that knowledge made everything else insignificant. 

Peggy’s body was pressed against hers, stray curls brushing against her cheek and forehead, and her hand was gripping her shoulder. She had never felt this connected with someone before, even all those boys who’d stolen wet kisses in the back of their cars. 

Peggy leaned back and gasped softly, her back arched, and then leant in until her lips were inches from Angie’s and said; 

“You’re worth more than one hundred men,” she whispered, “And I wish everyone could see that.” She kissed her on the forehead. 

“You’re my everything,” Angie whispered back into the fronds of Peggy’s hair. 

“No, no, my love,” she murmured, and Angie’s heart popped in a pink firework to hear her call her so affectionately, “No one should be that much to you. No one knows what will happen, and when something does, it will be all the more devastating. You should be your own everything.” She stroked Angie’s cheek, then slid down and rested her head on her heart. Angie became even more aware of its heavy, quick thumping as she did so. It sounded frightening even to her, but Peggy didn’t stir. 

“Well, can you be my everything just for this moment?” She held her breath. 

Peggy looked up at her, eyes shining from the lamplight. “Yes, Angie, I will be your everything. Just for this moment.”

And she smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For now, I've only covered the first half of the book, and I'll leave it here unless I get 5 comments requesting I finish it. I hope you've enjoyed this, I certainly enjoyed writing it! <3


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